


She Thinks About Me When I'm Gone

by NerdsLikeUs



Category: Stitchers (TV)
Genre: A little, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chaptered, F/F, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdsLikeUs/pseuds/NerdsLikeUs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>But she loves me when I try</em>
  <br/>
  <em>She thinks about me when I'm gone</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Oh, she helps me when I can't hold on</em>
</p><p>Fisher's ex-wife is murdered, Kirsten struggles with residual emotion, and Cameron is a love-sick dork.<br/>Set sometime during Season 1, when Kirsten still has Temporal Dysplasia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Madeleine

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is what happens when it's quiet at work and the internet isn't working.  
> It's trying-to-get-through-the-hiatus time, fellow Stitcher-ites! I started this fic a little while ago, but decided to save to start posting it until now as a bit of a coping mechanism. I'm planning on adding a chapter every Tuesday and Thursday (Aussie time). I'm posting two chapters today because the first one's pretty short.  
> Title and description from _She Loves Me (When I Try)_ by Dougie Maclean.
> 
> EDIT: after watching the finale (!!!!) this is officially an AU, although it wasn't when I wrote it :)

“Alright, I need a go/no go for Stitch neurosync: Life Sci?”  
“Go.”  
“Sub Bio?”  
“Go.”  
“Engineering?”  
“Go.”  
“Communications?”  
“Go.”  
“Medical?”  
“Go.”  
“Comm check, one two, can you hear me Stretch?”  
“I hear you.”  
“Ok, engage Stitch neurosync, on my mark: three, two, one, and through the Gate we go, _MARK!_ ”

Kirsten had been informed about the occurrence of a new case not in the usual way of a team meeting around the conference table in the Stitch lab, but by a loud banging on her front door at six in the morning. She was sure it was Cameron (who else would come so early? She must have missed his call) but when she pulled open the door she found someone quite unexpected.  
“Fisher?”  
“I do have a first name, you know.”  
Even Kirsten, with her difficulty recognising emotions, could see that Fisher’s joking words did not truly reflect his current feelings. His eyes were hollow and slightly bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept, and his face was gaunt and grey. He kept curling and uncurling his fingers, as though he either wanted to punch something or bury his face in them and cry.  
“What’s wrong?” asked Kirsten, straightforward as always.  
Fisher raised his eyebrows and huffed a sort of half laugh. “Who said anything is wrong? Maybe I just wanted to hang out.”  
She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows in return. “Well, knowing you, if there was nothing wrong you wouldn’t be pounding on my door this early in the morning. If you really did just want to ‘hang out’ (which I doubt, anyway, as we see each other every day at work and you have never wanted to catch up with any of us outside of that) you are sensible enough to call or text me to arrange it beforehand. So, since we both know you _don’t_ just want to hang out, would you save what is probably precious time and just tell me what _is_ wrong?”  
“You have no sense of time, how do you know it’s being wasted?”  
“Fisher.” She glared at him.  
Fisher released a breath in a sign of surrender. He ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut as though gathering courage.  
“My wife – my _ex_ -wife – she – she was murdered last night. They’re bringing her in for Stitching.”  
Without a word, Kirsten grabbed her jacket and her phone, and the two of them left the house.

“Madeleine Fisher, aged 28, died at 11:56 last night.”  
Maggie’s voice was gentler than it normally was when speaking of samples. Kirsten watched her carefully not looking at Fisher, and wondered why people are scared of people who are in pain.  
“She was found early this morning by a jogger in the park, sitting on a bench with …” She paused again. “With a steak knife in her neck.”  
Next to her Kirsten felt Fisher twitch slightly.  
“Kirsten,” Maggie continued, “We need you to Stitch into her and, if you can, identify her killer.” She stopped, but it seemed to Kirsten that there was something she wasn’t saying.  
“There’s something else,” said Camille, echoing Kirsten’s thoughts. “Something you’re not telling us.”  
Maggie hesitated for a moment, giving Camille her _you’re out of line_ glare. Camille raised her eyebrows and retorted, “What? Am I wrong?”  
Sighing, Maggie relented. “As the victim’s ex-husband, Fisher will most likely be high on the list of suspects. It is, therefore, of even higher importance than usual that we quickly identify the true killer. We want to avoid having the LAPD digging too far into Fisher’s life.”  
“Right, because there’s no other reason we would care if Fisher got arrested for murder,” said Camille.  
“What if he is the killer?” asked Kirsten.  
“ _Kirsten!_ ” exclaimed Cameron and Camille.  
Kirsten shrugged off their glares. “What?”  
Maggie shifted in her chair but kept her face blank. “If, in the unlikely event that Fisher _is_ responsible, then we will act as necessary.”  
An awkward pause followed this statement. Fisher raised his eyebrows.  
“Good to know that my friends are morally just,” he said.  
Camille clapped her hands. “And on that cheery note, let’s Stitch!”


	2. Simmons

Kirsten opened her eyes to a world that was not her own. It was strange, she thought, how easily she fit into peoples’ minds. As though she was built to be Stitched. As though the Stitching was built for her.   
“Alright, Princess, what do you see?”  
 _A world, built green. Sun and trees and dappled shade._  
“I'm in the park.”  
 _Madeline, walking. She saw through her eyes and her own._  
“It’s not right,” Kirsten said. “I'm in the park, but it’s daytime. Move me closer.”  
“Working on it,” said Cameron’s voice.  
So Kirsten watched. _Madeline walking. Looking up. Fisher’s face, framed by light and leaves._  
“Fisher’s here,” said Kirsten.  
“What?” said Cameron’s voice. Kirsten could hear his confusion and, under it, worry.  
 _Hands joined and swinging. The giddy happy feeling of light and laughter and love._  
“It’s not the right day. Cameron!”  
“Well, don’t blame me!” Cameron’s indignant voice rang inside her head. “You're in the strongest memory.”  
One last glance at Fisher’s smiling face, and everything changed.  
“Okay, I'm in the park still, but it’s different.”  
“Different how?”  
“It’s night. She’s sitting on a bench. Alone.”  
 _Dark wind, quietly ruffling hair and leaves and grass. She looks up, at the silver stars silently shining._  
“Wait.”  
 _Feet crunching on a yellow gravel path._  
“Someone’s coming.”  
 _Then suddenly, flashes. A blue car driving. A hand rubbing sunscreen into her shoulder. Red painted fingernails. Golden light in golden hair._  
“Talk to me Stretch. What’s happening?”  
 _He sits beside her. She smiles. He stabs her in the throat._  
Kirsten gasped, and screamed.  
 _Red, everywhere. Golden light in golden hair. Pain._  
“Kirsten!” Cameron’s voice came loudly, and she realised she was still screaming.  
“I'm bouncing!” she cried.  
 _I heart Linus._  
She sat up in the fish tank, gasping.  
She looked round, and saw Fisher at her side.  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t see his face.”  
His expression stayed neutral, but she could sense his disappointment and hopelessness.  
Cameron approached the fish tank, and looked at Kirsten with concern. “Are you okay?”  
Kirsten kept her eyes on Fisher.   
“I’m fine.”

Later, after check-ups and changings and debriefings, Cameron stopped Kirsten as she approached the elevator.  
“What?” she asked.  
“Are you sure you're okay? That Stitch was pretty intense.”  
“Ayo checked me out, I'm fine.”  
“Yeah, I know, but …” Cameron had the pinch between his eyebrows that meant he was worried. “I don’t know. I've never heard you scream like that before.”  
Kirsten sighed and shifted in surrender. “It was different to other Stitches,” she said, quietly so that Linus, who was at his computer, couldn’t hear. “She … she wasn’t scared. She was just sitting there, watching the stars. And someone stabbed her in the neck.”  
Cameron looked at her the way he always did when she talked about pain, as though he wanted to put his forehead on hers and help her breathe out all the hurt.  
She looked away.  
“Where are you going now?” he asked. Sometimes she really hates how well he sees her.  
“I need to find this guy, Cameron. For Fisher.” Her stomach tingled oddly as she said his name.  
“How?” Cameron said. “You’ve got nothing to go on, no leads, no hints, and it’ll be hours before we can Stitch in again.”  
“I don’t care,” Kirsten said shortly. “If I can’t investigate through the Stitch, I’ll do it the old fashioned way. But I need to do something, Cameron. I can’t just sit.”  
Cameron huffed a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” he said. “But I'm going with you.”  
Kirsten had expected nothing else.

Because of his personal connection to the case, Fisher was banned from investigation, so Kirsten and Cameron couldn’t call on him for help.  
“We’ll just have to do what we did when I first joined the program,” Kirsten said as they approached Madeline’s workplace.  
“What? Break the law and repeatedly put ourselves in harm’s way?” said Cameron. “Oh wait, we still do that now!”  
Kirsten rolled her eyes at him, and he rolled his right back. “What? Tell me I’m wrong.”  
She ignored him. “I _meant_ work without police assistance.”  
They entered the travel agents’ office to find no one at the reception desk. A few moments after Kirsten rang the bell, a pale blonde woman with bloodshot eyes emerged from a hallway.  
“I’m so sorry for the wait,” she said breathily. “Our – our receptionist died last night –” Her voice caught, and she sobbed and swallowed. “And we haven’t got anyone to fill in for her.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Kirsten, using the voice she always used when talking to people for an investigation. It was different than the one Cameron normally heard her use, one that was sweet and sympathetic and – he hated thinking it – _normal_. “Did you know her well?”  
The woman – whose small grey nametag read _Rachel_ – shook her head. “Not really. Just as colleagues, you know.” She sniffed and appeared to try and pull herself together. “Anyway. What can I do for you?”  
Kirsten and Cameron glanced at each other. “Actually,” said Kirsten, “we know about Madeline’s death. We’re investigating her murder.”  
“You’re police?” Rachel asked in a high, tight voice.  
“Well, no,” admitted Cameron. “We’re –”  
“Consultants!” Kirsten cut him off. Rachel looked at her, eyebrows pinched, and Kirsten smiled quickly in an attempt to make her interruption seem less odd. “We consult with the LAPD on some of their more … unusual cases.”  
Rachel gave them a strange look. “Well … alright. If you wait here, I’ll fetch Mr Simmons.” She disappeared back into the hall towards the offices.  
Cameron exhaled sharply and looked at Kirsten incredulously. “What are you thinking?” he hissed. “Impersonating police officers? You know that’s a crime, right?”  
Kirsten shrugged. “We aren’t impersonating police officers.”  
Cameron rolled his eyes and muttered something about technicalities not mattering much in court.  
Minutes later, Rachel returned and ushered them down the hall and into an informal break room area. A tall, broad man with tussled greying hair greeted them and introduced himself as Derek Simmons.  
“Now,” he said, inviting them to sit on the fraying couches next to a coffee machine, “what can I help you with?”  
“Is there anything you can tell us about Madeline?” asked Kirsten. “Can you think of any reasons anyone might want to hurt her?”  
Simmons shook his head. “No, not at all,” he said. “Madeline was a delight. Very friendly, good at her job, no enemies or even people that disliked her. Not in this office, anyway.”  
“What about outside of work?” asked Cameron.  
The older man sighed seriously. “No, she never really talked about life outside work. I got the sense she was pretty lonely, so I didn’t like to press.”  
Although her expression didn’t change, Cameron could tell Kirsten was getting frustrated. She fidgeted slightly in her seat and leaned forward. “And she never came to work upset? Or had to cancel at the last minute?”  
“ _No_ ,” insisted Simmons, and he too looked like he was becoming angry. “And I don’t appreciate your insinuations. You sound as though you want there to be dirt on Madeline’s life!”  
“Of course I do,” said Kirsten. “She wouldn’t have been killed if she didn’t have secrets.”  
Simmons stood up, and Cameron could see the I-cannot-believe-how-insensitive-she-is-being look that many people got when Kirsten questioned them. “I’m starting to think that you’re not really with the police,” he said. “Let me see some ID.”  
“Well, see, we don’t actually _have_ ID,” began Cameron “as we’re only consultants, not actual _officers_ …”  
Simmons looked outraged. “Consultants?!” he cried. “Are you from the _media_?”  
“What? No!” Cameron exclaimed, but the look he shot at Kirsten was enough to convince Simmons that they were not telling the truth about something.  
“That went well,” said Cameron ten minutes later as they stood on the curb outside the travel agents’ building, after Doctor Simmons had yelled at them to _get out and never come back unless they want the real police on their asses_. Kirsten was already on her phone.  
“He was definitely hiding something,” she said as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Why was he so worried about the media?”  
“Maybe because people don’t like it when dead people are used as clickbait?” Cameron muttered, but Kirsten didn’t seem to hear him.  
“Camille? We need you to dig into someone for us,” she said with no preamble. “A man named Derek Simmons, he worked with Madeleine.”  
Cameron couldn’t hear Camille’s response, but it must have been sarcastic because Kirsten rolled her eyes and hung up.  
“She says she lives to serve.”  
Cameron grinned, and his smile prompted a small one from Kirsten in return.


	3. Rachel

It was sixteen hours before they were able to Stitch into Madeline again. By then, Camille had thoroughly investigated Simmons.  
“He seems clean,” she began. “No priors, and no hint of illegal behaviour. Until,” she paused dramatically, “you dig a little deeper, which, on a hunch, I did.” She stopped again and seemed expectant. When no one spoke, she rolled her eyes and said under her breath, " _Oh, well done Camille, good instincts, good job, keep it up._ "  
“It wasn’t your hunch or your instincts,” said Kirsten. “I was the one who told you to investigate him.”  
Camille half-turned towards her and opened her mouth to retort, but before she could speak Maggie said briskly, “Anyway …”  
“Anyway,” Camille repeated, with only a small glare at Kirsten, “I dug a little deeper and found suspicious deposits into our friendly neighbourhood travel agent’s bank account each month. Turns out, Mr I-hate-people-investigating has been embezzling money for almost a year.”  
“Well that explains his terrible manners,” said Cameron. “I’d throw people out too if I thought they were going to discover a dirty little secret like _that_.”  
“Alright,” said Maggie, all business. “Kirsten, when you Stitch in, focus on Madeline’s relationship with Simmons. If she discovered his secret, he might have resorted to murder.”

“Engage Stitch neurosync on my mark: three, two, one, MARK!”  
 _Computer screen blinking, phone ringing, people coming and going and coming and going and coming and going …_  
“I’m in the office,” said Kirsten.  
 _Rushing, filing, talking, working, over and over, the same the same the same day after day after endless day, until_  
“Wait, there’s something …”  
 _Everything, neutral and never ending. But slow now, instead of speeding, and everything is focused on her._  
“Rachel,” Kirsten whispered.  
Cameron’s voice came again, although it seemed very far away. “What did you say? Talk to me Stretch.”  
Then again, flashes.  
 _Rachel. Soft kisses on soft skin. Pink lips, blue dresses, golden hair._  
“Oh,” said Kirsten, full of love.  
 _The two of them, lying together. Tangled in white sheets and smelling of peppermint. Rachel smiles, brushes fingers through her hair. She lightens at the touch._  
 _Then, a change. Different bed, different person, different time, same feeling. Green sheets and brown hair and a touch that burns in the best way._  
Suddenly, Cameron’s voice came loudly. “Stretch, bounce _now_!”  
 _I heart Linus._  
Struggling with water and wires, Kirsten quickly climbed out of the fish tank. Wrapped in a towel, she faced the questioning looks the others gave her.  
“I didn’t find out anything about Simmons,” she said. “But I did find out something else. And it doesn’t look good for Fisher.”

They sat around the conference table in silence. Once Kirsten had finished detailing what she had seen in the Stitch, she had fallen quiet, and no one else had spoken. She was finding it difficult to meet Fisher’s eyes.  
“You know,” said Fisher finally, “just because my ex-wife was in another relationship doesn’t mean we should halt the investigation.”  
The tension eased a little.  
“But dude,” said Linus, “she wasn’t just in a new relationship. She was in a relationship with a _woman_.”  
Camille threw him a disgusted look, but Maggie spoke before she could.  
“Well then,” she said. “Fisher, what would you suggest our next move be?”  
“You mean if I wasn’t officially banned from investigating?”  
Maggie gave him a small smile. “Yes.”  
“Investigate the girlfriend,” Fisher said immediately. “A high number of homicides are committed by partners, and an even higher number are committed by secret lovers.”  
“No.” Kirsten shook her head. “I'm sure it wasn’t Rachel. They were in love.”  
Fisher looked away.  
“If anything,” Kirsten continued, “we should be investigating _you_ , Fisher, since a high number of murder victims are _also_ killed by jealous exes.”  
“Not _as_ high a number –” Fisher began to argue, but Maggie interrupted.  
“In any case,” she said, “Rachel is currently our best lead. Tomorrow, go and talk to her. And, Kirsten?” She stopped them as they began to rise from their seats. “Try not to offend her too much. Without a police officer she is within her rights to not speak to you at all, and this is the only real insight into Madeline’s life that we have.” She paused. “We can’t Stitch into her again.”


	4. Quincy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty late (and on only my third update ...) but here are chapters 4 and 5 at last!

Late that night, there was an insistent knocking on Kirsten’s door. She opened it and once again found Fisher before her.  
“Hello,” she said.  
“You don’t really think I'm a suspect, do you?”  
He looked haggard, tired, even worse than when he was on her doorstep the previous morning. She answered immediately, as usual never surprised by questions or sudden appearances.  
“No.”  
He nodded, and huffed a small laugh as though amused by his own doubts. “No, of course not.”  
There was a pause, awkward for him, ordinary for her.  
“So,” he said. “I brought beer?” He said it like a question, unsure what her response would be.  
Before she quite knew how, they were sitting on the couch bottles in hand, and she was listening to him talk.  
“Quincy and Madeline.”The corners of his lips twitched. “We were both named after foods. She used to joke about that.”  
Kirsten knew. She remembered. “Quince jam spread on a Madeline biscuit. You tried it once.”  
Fisher nodded. “It tasted horrible.” He laughed bitterly. “Just like us, I suppose.”  
“No,” said Kirsten. “You loved her, once.”  
“Still do.” He studied his beer, brow furrowed. “But we were a mess, the two of us. Spent most of the time fighting, even before we got married. I suppose we should’ve known how it would end. But yeah … we were in love. Almost too much, I suppose.”  
“I don’t know much about love,” Kirsten said softly, slowly. “How can it be too much?”  
“We fell too deep, too far, too fast. It was so much that we couldn’t see our way clear. Hated each other because of how much we loved.”  
Kirsten looked away. He was raw and emotional, different to the Fisher she had grown to know. Yet somehow familiar.  
“It hit me from behind, the day she stopped loving me,” he continued. “Never did quite know how she found her way out of the hole we had dug ourselves. I guess I’ll never know, now.” He took a long drink from his beer.  
“I …” Kirsten’s voice tripped, and she swallowed. “I know.”  
 _Fighting, yelling, feeling the world rip apart from anger and hate and hopelessness. No way out, no way._  
Fisher looked up suddenly, eyes searching her face. “What?”  
 _He slams the door. She’s stuck here, as always, trapped in the stomach of the vile hating creature that has swallowed her life._  
“In – in the stitch, the memories, the strongest ones with the – the most emotion, they pull me,” Kirsten said. “And I saw … the day she left.”  
 _She sits on the couch, hands in her hair, wanting to tear out her soul and scratch out her heart._  
She tried to read his face. Hope, disbelief, hurt, fear. His face in a way she had never seen before, but in a way she had seen so many times. His heart showing through his eyes.  
“Do you want to know?” she said quietly.  
Fisher looked away, put down his beer, clenched his hands. Took a breath. “Yes.”  
 _He returns, hours later, to find her asleep on the couch._  
Kirsten tucked her hair behind her ear. “She never stopped loving you,” she said. “But she stopped loving her life. She needed to get out.”  
 _She knows it now, after sitting for hours. This can’t go on._  
“She loved you, so much.”  
 _God, she loves him. She will always love him. More than her bones, more than her blood, more than fire and storms and sunshine._  
“She always did.”  
 _But what was the point of love if it didn’t make her happy?_  
“But she knew she couldn’t be happy and also be with you. So she said she stopped loving you. So you could both get free.”  
 _It would hurt him, hurt them both. But nothing could hurt more than this._  
Fisher hadn’t moved. Kirsten put her hand on his back, cautiously.   
_He sits next to her on the couch and she wakes and sits up._  
Fisher looked up at her, eyes full of pain. She didn’t want to be the cause of his pain.  
 _They don’t speak for a moment, not sure what to say._  
She didn’t know what else to say. He was looking at her, and they were sitting so close. Her hand was still on his back.  
 _She kisses him._  
She kissed him.  
 _His hands on her body, skin touching skin making fire. Their clothes are gone in an instant, shoes and shirts and pants scattering the floor on the way to their bedroom. Her legs grip his waist and he carries her, holding her ass and her hips and her thighs._  
She touched his face, gently. It was new and old, strange and familiar, unlike any kiss she’d had before.  
 _She kisses him like she never has before, but like she always has. She tries to burn the taste and feel of him into her skin because she knows that this might just be the last._  
He tasted like beer and smelled like wood. His hands came up slowly, one on her waist and one in her hair.  
 _She never wants to stop._  
The kiss drew out, deep and intense. She gripped his collar and pulled him closer until they were leaning against the arm of the couch. He murmured her name into her mouth.  
 _It’s been hours and the sun’s first light is starting to show through the blinds. They’re lying side by side._  
She doesn’t want to stop.  
 _He opens his eyes and looks at her. He is naked and still kind of sweaty and his hair is a mess, and she thinks he’s never looked as hot or as beautiful. She knows that soon she will have to stand, to dress, to leave and maybe never come back, but at that moment she loves him more than ever so she stays as long as she can._  
“Kirsten,” he said.  
 _She drinks in his sight and his smell and his taste. She never wants to say goodbye._  
" _Kirsten!_ ” Fisher said, more firmly this time, and suddenly Kirsten remembered where she was.   
“I –” she began to say, but before she could continue the door opened.  
“Ok, so I know I said I’d stop coming over unannounced (not that you can talk, by the way), but Maggie wants us at the lab and you weren’t answering your –”  
Cameron stopped short as he saw them entwined on the couch. An expression crossed his face that Kirsten couldn’t decipher, but it disappeared quickly and he looked away.  
“Oh, ah, sorry … I didn’t, uh, realise that you were, er, here, Fisher, sorry –”  
Fisher looked embarrassed. He sat up properly, and Kirsten took her arms from around his neck. Cameron was still looking anywhere but at them.  
Kirsten stood up. “Maggie wants us at the lab?”  
He nodded, eyes flicking up to her face and then away again. “Yeah. Rachel has come forward to the police. She wants to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest I felt a little awkward writing this chapter. I have nothing against the Kirsten/Fisher ship per se, except for the fact that he always calls her "kiddo".


	5. Cameron

Kirsten and Cameron sat opposite Rachel in the interrogation room. Although it wasn’t exactly protocol, Maggie’s influence had enabled them to have time questioning her even without Fisher present.  
Rachel looked nervous. Her hair, pulled back in a loose bun, was coming down at the edges, and she brushed it away anxiously. Kirsten’s eyes followed the movement, and she remembered how those fingers felt touching her own hair – Madeline’s hair.  
“I don’t understand,” said Rachel. “I already talked to the police. Why do you want to talk to me too?”  
Kirsten glanced at Cameron, but he wasn’t looking at her. “We have some more questions,” he said. “You knew Madeline more than anyone else, and we need to know about her life in order to find who did this to her.”  
Rachel’s eyes had welled at the mention of Madeline’s name. She took a deep breath and nodded, clenching her hands together.  
“Did she seem upset lately?” asked Cameron. “Did something happen that made her act differently?”  
“I – I don’t think so,” Rachel said, eyebrows drawn. “There were a couple of days in the last few weeks when she seemed a little distant, but, well …”  
“Whenever you were together, she was happy,” said Kirsten quietly.  
Rachel looked up at her, eyes bright and clear. A slight shadow of a smile touched her lips. “Yes.”  
“I hate to say this,” said Cameron, glancing at Kirsten, “but I have to ask; why did you keep your relationship a secret?”  
“It makes me look like a suspect, doesn’t it?” said Rachel resignedly.   
Kirsten glared at Cameron, but he avoided her eye and replied, “Yes.”  
“I didn’t kill her,” Rachel said.  
“But you also didn’t tell anyone about your relationship,” Kirsten couldn’t help adding. She knew so many things about Madeleine and Rachel. But she didn’t know why they had been a secret.  
“I loved her,” Rachel whispered in a hard voice. “I _love_ her.”  
“Then why didn’t you tell people?” Kirsten pressed. “Why did you keep it a secret?”  
She needed to know, felt the burning ache of it in her chest. She knew it all, the light and the laughter and the feel of her touch, the love and the longing. But she didn’t know this.  
“I loved her,” Rachel repeated.   
_Meeting and seeing and knowing each other, laughing and longing for days and weeks and months._  
“We met, but for months I don’t think she realised she had feelings for me.”  
 _And then, a kiss._  
“Then one day, I kissed her.”  
 _Sweet and soft and secret, in the parking lot behind the office._  
“She was surprised, I think.”  
 _Unlike any kiss she’s had before._  
A small forgotten smile had appeared on Rachel’s mouth as she told the story. It was sweet, and Kirsten has a sudden impulse to kiss the other woman’s dimple.  
 _Together finally, and it’s the happiest she’s ever been. Their first time is so new and so wonderful, and she thinks to herself,_ this is the beginning.  
“It was all new.”  
 _A touch that lightens, after so long of one that makes her burn._  
“We just wanted to keep it that way, for a while.”  
 _Secret smiles, secret touches, secret kisses. A chance to find themselves in each other before other people nudge their way in._  
Kirsten felt tears in her eyes, but she didn’t need to fight to keep them from falling. Without thinking, she reached out and took Rachel’s hands, forcing her to unclench and relax them. Rachel looked up, tears making silvery tracks down her cheeks.  
“We were supposed to meet in the park that night. A picnic under the stars.” She gave a small bitter laugh and said, “I was late because I ran out of mayo for the chicken sandwiches, so I had to go to the supermarket.” She shook her head. “I’m never eating chicken sandwiches again.”  
“Don’t say that,” said Kirsten. “I'm sure Madeleine wouldn’t want her death to mean you lose another of your true loves as well.”  
Rachel met her eyes, and Kirsten saw a glint of recognition in them.  
They stayed in eye contact, and Kirsten felt her fingers running over Rachel’s. She wanted to stay, kiss her and hold her and tell her everything was going to be alright, but instead she drew her hands away.  
“She loved you too,” she said. “So much.”  
Abruptly she pushed back her chair and left the room. Exhaling heavily, she leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from crying. Seconds later, the door opened and Cameron came out. He looked at her questioningly, but before he could form the words she spoke instead.  
“Don’t ask what’s going on with me Cameron,” she said, flatly despite the lump that was still making her throat ache, “because I don’t know.”  
He leaned next to her on the wall, their shoulders just touching. “Residual emotion?” he suggested.  
She nodded a little. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just been so … intense.”  
“Maybe it’s because the sample –”  
“Madeleine,” Kirsten interrupted.   
“Madeleine,” Cameron repeated. “Is connected to someone you know. Like if you had Stitched into Marta or Ed, a similar thing would have happened.”  
“Maybe,” said Kirsten.  
“But actually, if that’s the case, imagine how intense the residual emotion would be if you _had_ Stitched into the memories of someone you actually know. Or like me, or –”  
“Don’t joke about that, Cameron,” Kirsten said, straightening and stepping away.  
“Sorry,” said Cameron. He stood straight too, but let her keep her distance. “I was just trying to make you smile.”  
“I don’t really feel like smiling now,” Kirsten said. She folded her arms and stared at the wall, picturing Rachel sitting on the other side.  
“Right,” said Cameron, and Kirsten could hear the hurt in his voice. “I’ll just … get the car. Come out when you’re ready.”  
He left, and Kirsten stayed. Her hands still smelled of peppermint.


	6. Fisher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if we've learnt anything from this it's that I'm terrible at regular updates. In light of this realisation, here are all the rest of the chapters all at once. Enjoy!

“So, what now?”  
Kirsten was standing with Cameron, Camille, and Linus at Linus’s station in the Stitch Lab, and all four of them had simultaneously realised that they had no leads.  
"All the suspects we've had haven't panned out," mused Cameron, "we can't stitch in again to dig up more …"  
"And we can't ask Fisher for help," finished Kirsten.  
"Basically, we're at a dead end," said Camille, leaning on the desk and looking glum.  
Suddenly, Kirsten grabbed her bag, turned around, and headed for the elevator.  
"Woah, where are you going?" called Cameron. When she didn't reply, he chased after her and stopped the lift doors from closing in his face. She glared at him reproachfully.   
"Look, Princess, you may be the princess but you can't just leave without talking to us. We're you're team."  
She continued to glare, then relented reluctantly. "I'm going to talk to Fisher."  
"Oh," said Cameron. He lowered his arms slightly. "You know you can't talk to him about the case, right?"  
"Maybe I'm not going to talk to him about the case," she said, and again that look that she couldn't quite recognise crossed Cameron's face. Before he could say anything though, she continued, "Not officially anyway."  
Cameron nodded, uncharacteristically quiet, and let the elevator doors slide shut.

This time, it was Kirsten knocking insistently on Fisher’s front door.  
His place was different to how pre-Stitch Kirsten would have imagined it to be (if she had been the sort of person who imagined other people's living spaces). It was small, but well lit, with green and brown and blue furniture and walls. The kitchen was disorganised but not unclean, and Kirsten felt oddly at ease as she sat at the kitchen table.  
"So," said Fisher.  
Kirsten remembered him saying exactly same thing in exactly same tone as he stood at her door last night, and realised that it was what he said when he was feeling awkward.  
"There's no need to feel uncomfortable Fisher," she stated.   
"Isn't there?" he asked. She noticed that he was wearing the little smile that he always got when she spoke as no one else would.  
"Look," she said. "I only kissed you because of the residual emotion from Madeleine's Stitch."  
"Yeah," said Fisher, huffing a laugh. "I kinda figured."  
Kirsten wasn't sure what to say. "I - I'm sorry? I just, I don't think of you that way."  
"No, I know," he said. "I don't think of you that way either. That's not the problem. I got a little ... caught up in the moment, is all, and I was worried that you would think I took advantage of you."  
"I don't think that," said Kirsten. "It's a natural response. When someone you feel comfortable with kisses you, you kiss them back, even if you don't have those feelings for them. It's almost a reflex."  
Fisher looked relieved, and they sat in silence for a few minutes.  
"I'm glad you came over, actually," said Fisher at last. "As well as apologising, I wanted to thank you."  
"What for?"  
"For ... for telling me the truth about why Madeleine left," he said. "Knowing that she loved me too, that she was trying to do the best thing for both of us, it helps, some. Makes it seem like less of a failure."  
Once again Kirsten wasn't sure what to say. She looked at Fisher and saw something healed in his eyes that the day before had been broken.  
"We've hit a roadblock in the case," she said. "And I know that you aren't allowed to help us, but we were hoping you could _unofficially_ give us some unofficial advice on how to proceed."  
Fisher smiled again, and considered for a moment before looking up at her and saying, “If you can’t go forward, try looking back.”

Camille sat at the kitchen table, her pyjama-clad legs crossed, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea, and watched Kirsten pace.  
"Go back, go back," Kirsten said under her breath. "But where?"  
"The travel agent?" Camille suggested.  
Kirsten shook her head. "But that lead didn't pan out."  
"Well, we _think_ it didn't," Camille pointed out. "You never actually saw anything about him in a Stitch."  
Kirsten stopped her walking and rested her arms on the back of a chair. "That's true," she admitted. "We got distracted by Rachel."  
Camille raised her eyebrows but let her thoughts go unspoken.  
"Maybe we passed over him too quickly," Kirsten admitted. "But how do we find out more now that we can't Stitch into her?"  
“Well maybe it’s just like you told Cameron,” Camille said suddenly, with the gleam of a new idea in her eyes. “We just have to do things the old fashioned way.”


	7. Camille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second last chapter, complete with bad-ass Camille and a _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ reference.

It took Camille no longer than an hour to acquire a date with Simmons.  
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Cameron as he and Kirsten were waiting in the car outside the travel agent’s office. “I mean, even if she does manage to seduce him, and _even_ if she manages to get him to admit to the embezzling, there’s no way he’ll admit to murder. Especially not on a first date.”  
“The point isn’t to get him to confess,” said Kirsten impatiently. “The point is to get more information. If we can get him to give any sort of hint, that combined with the information Camille found about his finances should be enough to get an arrest warrant. Then the police can do the rest.”  
“Right,” said Cameron. “Easy as really difficult pie.”  
A few minutes later, Kirsten straightened in her seat and said, “There they are.”  
Camille was emerging from the offices, the door held open for her by Simmons. Laughing and flirting, they made their way to his dark blue hybrid car, where Camille glanced briefly their way before sliding in.  
“That car,” said Kirsten suddenly, remembering. “I saw that car in the Stitch.”  
“Really? When?”  
“I – I’m not sure, it was just a flash, but she felt angry when she saw it.”  
Simmons pulled out, and Cameron turned his car on to follow.

“Honestly, how long does it take to get someone to confess to murder?” Cameron murmured. “We’ve been here for hours.”  
Kirsten didn’t bother to correct him, either on the aim of their mission or his exaggeration of time. She was watching Camille intently, while trying to avoid openly staring.  
“It’s annoying that we had to sit so far away,” Cameron continued. “Can’t hear a word they’re saying.”  
“If we sat close enough to hear then Simmons would most certainly see us,” said Kirsten idly. “And after the impression we made on him the other day, it’s for the best to avoid that.”  
“I know, I know,” said Cameron. Muttering under his breath, he continued, “Wish I could order a real drink.”  
Simmons currently did not seem suspicious; Camille was laughing lightly, touching his arm, and he seemed to have no idea that she was trying to wheedle information out of him.  
They sat in silence for a few more minutes, until Cameron said suddenly, “Something’s wrong.”  
Kirsten jerked her head around to look straight at Camille. “Nothing’s happening,” she said in confusion. “What are you talking about?”  
“She’s getting nervous,” Cameron said in a low voice.   
Watching her housemate intently, Kirsten tried to see what Cameron saw. Camille was still giggling and flicking her hair, but she was leaning slightly away from Simmons instead of towards him, and her eyes were constantly glancing away.   
“I see,” said Kirsten, her voice also quiet.  
Simmons stood abruptly, pressing himself against Camille’s crossed legs. She shifted uncomfortably, but stayed with him, taking his hand and following him out the side door to the alley.  
“ _Not part of the plan!_ ” Cameron said as he and Kirsten hurried out of their chairs to follow. Panicking slightly, the two of them pushed their way across the bar, Cameron tripping on chairs, Kirsten bumping into several people and ignoring their annoyance.   
Moments later, they burst out of the door, and found Camille standing over a groaning Simmons.  
“Wha– ?”  
“Well,” panted Camille as she pushed her hair out of her eyes and gave Simmons another kick for good measure, “I guess we can add ‘sleaze’ to the charges of embezzlement and murder.”

Within the hour, Simmons was under arrest and at the police station. Cameron and Kirsten watched through the one-way glass as an officer who wasn't Fisher interrogated him.  
"Some case, huh?" said Cameron just to fill the silence.  
Kirsten replied, sort of. "What if he gets out of it?"  
Cameron stayed silent.  
They watched, both a part of the scene and not. It reminded Kirsten of Stitching; she was there to observe, not interfere or change. Couldn't even if she wanted to.  
"This case really affected you, didn't it?" said Cameron in a low voice. He said it like a question, but it wasn't. "More than usual."  
" _Much_ more than usual." Kirsten said. "I mean I ... I kissed _Fisher_." She heard the disbelief and even hints of disgust in her voice and felt a little bad.  
Cameron had begun determinedly not looking at her. "So, you and Fisher, that was ... that was just because of the Stitch?"  
She raised her eyebrows at him. "Of course."  
He gave a huff of breath that sounded something like relief. "Right.Right, of course. It's just, I've wondered about you two, sometimes ..."  
"Me and Fisher?" Kirsten said incredulously. She thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose it's possible. He's attractive, funny, brave, a good kisser -"  
"Alright," said Cameron, smiling and turning so he was facing her. "Enough of this Fisher-fan-party."  
" _But_ ," Kirsten continued, turning as well, "I don't see him that way. I mean, I feel like I do. Madeleine did. But I don't, not really."  
Cameron was wearing what Kirsten could only call an incredibly dopey smile. "Ok," he said.   
Before either of them could say anything else, shouting came from the other side of the glass. The officer was reaching the climax of her interrogation.  
"Alright, ALRIGHT!" cried Simmons, almost cowering under the woman's glare. "She found out! Then I overhead that the two of them were planning on meeting, and I just ... went. I didn't really think about it, okay?! I would have - I would have lost everything."  
"Yeah," said the officer. "Well, now you have."  
"What a scumbag," said Kirsten.


	8. Kirsten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! This was my first multi-chapter fic (and my first Stichers fic) and I have to say, I really loved writing it. So thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it too :)

"I never really knew," Kirsten said.  
She was sitting at Cameron's island bench, leaning on it and watching him cook. After they wrapped the case, he had invited them all back to his apartment for a post-mission dinner. Even with her back to them, Kirsten could hear Camille's laughter as Tim from Engineering kicked Linus's ass in some video game she hadn't bothered to learn the name of.  
"Knew what?" asked Cameron.  
"How I could ... help people."  
Cameron raised his eyebrows and took the pan he was stirring off the heat so he could pay full attention to her. "You help people all the time."  
"But I don't just mean help them by solving murders," Kirsten said. "I always hated the residual emotion I get from Stitching. It made me ... feel things. Things I've never felt before."   
Cameron leaned on his side of the bench and watched her. Suddenly, Kirsten felt shy under his gaze, and she looked down at her twisted-together hands.   
"Grief, longing, faith. Love." She said the last word quietly, as a whispered wondering. "And I've felt them, so deeply, it burrows into my heart and becomes a part of me. And I _hated_ it." Her voice burned and stuck on that word, but she looked up again and met his eyes. "But now ... talking to Fisher, and to Rachel, I realised, I helped them. To heal a little.”  
"You've done that before, you know," said Cameron softly. Kirsten furrowed her brow and shook her head in confusion.   
"Have I?"  
"Of course," Cameron smiled. "With Scott, when he lost Lily. With Nicole, when she lost her sister, with Solaris when she lost Vanessa. With me, when Marta ..." He avoided her eyes for a moment but then looked straight at her. "You make a difference to people, Kirsten. You help them. You've helped me."  
They looked at each other for a moment, but Kirsten couldn't tell how long it lasted. Cameron didn't blink, and neither did she, and she couldn't keep track by the noise the others were making because they strangely faded to the back of her mind.  
 _Like nothing she's ever felt before._  
Cameron jerked suddenly as Linus hit him on the back.   
"Where's the feast we were promised?" he said, in a way that sounded like he'd been laughing all night. "C'mon, Cameron, I'm starving!"  
"Ignore him," Camille called from the couch. "He's just trying to distract from the fact that he has now lost _six times in a row_."  
Linus made an angry-pouty-glare face that made Kirsten smile and roll her eyes. She glanced back at Cameron, and their eyes met briefly. His were sparkling.  
"Okay, okay," he said. "One delicious post-successful-case feast coming right up."  
That night, they toasted to Madeleine.


End file.
